Love and Pickles
by I-am-LMR
Summary: Alex comes up with a nickname for Bobby. If only he knew she'd gotten it from a romance novel...


**Love and Pickles**

**By LMR**

Disclaimer: If I own Criminal Intent, my kitten is the Queen of France. And of course, this is ridiculous. She doesn't even speak French (her native language is Turkish). I also didn't write _Slow Burn _by Julie Garwood. (You can tell - it has a plot.)

**xXx**

Alex stifled a yawn. It had been a slow week, and her partner had long since given up on finishing his paperwork. Actually, he had long since given up on even _pretending _he was doing his paperwork. He was now unabashedly translating Dante's _Inferno _into Kanji Japanese from memory and doodling it on the side of his notebook.

At least, that was Alex's best guess of what her partner might be doing, but whatever it was, it wasn't paperwork and he obviously didn't care if she knew it. If someone had ever told Alex Eames that she would one day be the goody-two-shoes half of a partnership, she would have told someone that they were under arrest for possession. But here she was, busting her butt, while Mr. "The crime scene is covered in blood, type- Oh look a little kitty!" let his mind travel to the magical Land of Bobbyness, whatever the hell that might look like. Alex smiled. Whatever he was, he'd grown on her and had slowly become her favorite... everything. The thought, combined with a rumble in her stomach, brought to mind something she'd read. Alex didn't realize that she'd laughed out loud until Bobby looked up at her with a wary expression. She called it his "I don't think I want to know what Eames is thinking" look.

She didn't give him a choice. But there was no way she was going to flat out admit that he'd reminded her of something she'd read in a romance novel. Better to get at it the long way. "I was just thinking..."

Bobby's expression changed just a little. Now it was his "Eames is doing something scary and she's dragging me along" look. Good. Making him squirm was only a little less fun than making him laugh.

"Yeah?" he said tentatively, encouraging her to continue.

"My old man was telling me about how he gave his partner his nickname. Syrup-head," she clarified. Okay, so she was making it up as she went along, but it served her purpose. "I won't even bother telling you how Dave ended up with that one. That story is so bizarre that this just isn't the time to tell it. I'll do it justice some other time."

"So you're not going to tell me the story, but you brought it up because..." His "Eames is taking forever to get to the point, so I know I'm not going to like the point" look.

"We've been together seven years. I think I should give you a nickname." No question about it: This was his "Eames is going to do something very bad" look.

"Stretch? Predictable. Shorty? Predictable the other way. Button nose, maybe?"

His expression was easy to define now. Stark terror. "Bobby is a nickname," he hastily reminded her.

"Okay, Weasel-brain. I'm _kidding_," she stressed, seeing the set of his jaw. She smirked. "I know. I'll call you Pickle."

He raised an eyebrow. "Pickle? How d'you figure?"

"It's from a book I read. This guy, Dylan, started calling his sister's best friend Pickle because he used to not like pickles, but then he lo- really liked them a lot after a while." Alex lifted her coffee mug to her face, leaning down so her hair would be between Bobby and her reddening face everywhere the mug didn't create a decent barrier. "Thing is, he actually said to her, exact words, that pickles were..." _Drumroll please_, she thought.

"An acquired taste."

A slow smile covered Bobby's face. "That's what he actually said?"

"Exactly what he said," she informed him. "Now you can see why I want to call you Pickle."

"Okaaay." He drew out the word. "I prefer Bobby, but I guess you have my permission to use Pickle. Once in a while," he added emphatically.

"Your permission?" Alex scoffed. "I'm Senior Partner and I order you to be my Pickle." She realized too late that she'd made a statement that could easily be construed as sexual harassment and inwardly groaned. What was worse- it wasn't even a _clever _statement that could be construed as sexual harassment.

A perfect gentleman, Bobby said nothing about her unintentional dirty joke. Truth be told, he was concentrating on the fact that Eames had referred to him with a possessive pronoun.

"That means," he said, relishing (rim shot) the moment. "That I get to give _you _a nickname." He paused for dramatic effect. "Be afraid, Eames. Be very afraid."

Alex just smirked. She could think of all kinds of derogatory names that could be hung on her, and Bobby would use none of them. He wouldn't even come up with something as weenie sounding as pickle. She groaned again, mentally cursing her gutter brain. _At least I didn't say that one out loud._

Bobby pondered this. She was a smart ass. He immediately dismissed that one: The last thing he needed to be thinking about was her ass. Shorty? Predictable. Brunette? He wasn't sure if he was supposed to know that one, so better to stay away from it.

And there was always the other name Dylan called Kate. Sugar. Yeah, he'd read it too. But over his dead body was he going to admit to having read a romance novel.

"I can't think of anything," he admitted. He smiled, not a smirk this time, just a genuine smile. "Would it be okay if I call you Alex?" he asked quietly.

She grinned. "Two things. I'm glad you're finally ditching my last name. And two, you're an insufferable suck-up. If you had given me a mean nickname like Pickle, I would have made you suffer."

"I love pickles," he informed her.

For a second, Alex's heart stopped. Had he just said that in a Boston accent? Had he read _Slow Burn_? No, Bobby wouldn't read romance novels, even if they were thinly disguised as mystery thrillers. Right?

Bobby inwardly grinned. She'd noticed. So Darren-"

"Dylan," she automatically corrected.

"Dylan started to really like Pickle, huh?" he prodded her.

"Uhhh, yeah," Alex answered, trying to sound natural. "They ended up... pr- pretty close." Now she was making a desperate effort not to turn bright red.

"So you think of me kind of like that? Like he felt about Pickle?"

"Yeah. A lot like that, really."

Bobby hoped, to some extent, that she could see the amusement, perhaps glee in his eyes. As he recalled, Dylan had explained the nickname's origins to Pickle at the end of the book.

Just before he proposed. Bobby decided then he had a new favorite book.

**xXx**

Review please.

Before you ask, yes I'm working on "The Final Barrier" and "Fluff" and even some "Squeaky." Not too long now, promise!


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